Rosaline shuddered, the color fading from her cheeks.
“And you went to see that horrible, wicked spectacle, Charlot?� she demanded, in open disgust.
“Mademoiselle knows I am a good Catholic,� replied the cobbler, meekly, his eyes drooping before her look of disdain. “’Tis done for the good of our souls—to show us the fate of these misguided people.�
“Mon Dieu!� ejaculated mademoiselle, softly.
Silence fell between them unbroken save by the soft sounds of summer, the humming of the honey-bees, the murmur of the mulberry leaves stirred by a light wind. Mademoiselle sat looking vacantly at her new slippers, while the shoemaker still knelt on one knee watching her face with that pathetic expression in his eyes that we see only in the look of sufferers.
“That was not all I saw at the fair,� he went on at last. “In the tent there was also—�
Rosaline made a gesture of disgust.
“I will hear no more!� she cried indignantly.
“This will not horrify you, mademoiselle,� he replied gently; “’tis only the story of my new guest.�
Her face relaxed, partly because she saw that she had hurt the hunchback’s feelings.